


The Eye of Your Mind

by tastethewaste



Category: Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Taron comforting Richard, seriously this is fluffy i'm not joking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 10:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20172376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastethewaste/pseuds/tastethewaste
Summary: Richard is surprisingly anxious before the London premiere of Rocketman and Taron doesn't think twice about being there for him.





	The Eye of Your Mind

Taron straightened his tie and stared at himself in the mirror. He ran his fingers through his hair one final time, declared himself ready, and sighed. This was as good as it was going to get. His stylist had picked out the tight-fitting brown suit and the white shirt he wore underneath it; the paisley tie with the muted purples and blues was his own addition. He gave a couple of practice smiles in the mirror, and felt his cheeks flood with heat as he blushed. _God, I’m such a prat,_ he thought to himself as he shook his head and left the bathroom. He didn’t _hate_ premieres by any means, especially when he was actually excited about the project he had done-as was the case with _Rocketman_-but they weren’t his favorite. He was a one-on-one kind of guy, better in interviews, and standing on a carpet in front of thousands of people all taking his photograph made him feel like something of a cardboard cutout. 

_He makes it infinitely better, though,_ Taron conceded as he left the hotel bathroom and saw Richard looking at himself in the full-length mirror in their sitting room. He was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and a black tie, and he was fussing over and over at his hair. 

“You look amazing, Rich,” Taron said as he snuck up behind him in the mirror and flashed him that same cheesy, winning smile that he’d practiced in his own mirror. Richard, however, said nothing, just continued to fuss with his hair and then began to fidget with his tie. “Hey! I said you look amazing, no need to keep fussing,” Taron said, always unable to be ignored, as he slipped between Richard and the mirror. He snaked his arms around Rich’s waist and was about to kiss him when he felt Richard pry himself out of his arms, jump back as if Taron’s arms were on fire and had burned him. 

“What you _doing_, Taron? We have to be downstairs in twenty-five minutes, we don’t have _time_ for that!” Richard said, his voice taking on a slightly hysterical tone, one that was unfamiliar. 

Taron raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What’s up _your_ arse?” he asked quizzically, unable to bring himself to be mad about Richard’s outburst, simply wondering where it had come from. 

Richard shook his head, paced back and forth. “I...I need a fucking smoke,” he muttered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes, shaking one loose. 

“Can’t smoke in here,” Taron reminded him, and was rewarded with a withering stare from Richard. 

“I don’t even remotely give a fuck,” he said, lighting it. As Taron watched, he noticed how bad Richard’s hands were shaking, and he watched as Richard went over to the large picture window and looked down at the city below. 

“Seriously. What’s going on, love?” Taron asked quietly, reaching out gently and touching Richard’s hand.  
Richard took a long pause, taking another drag from his cigarette, and then turned to face Taron, gripping his hand in the process. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m just nervous, I guess.” 

Taron’s eyebrows shot up again in shock. _Richard_ was nervous? “Nervous? But you don’t _get_ nervous,” Taron said in awe, to which Richard offered him a wry, sarcastic smile. 

“I’m human, T,” Rich said, squeezing his hand. 

“But you...fuck, you held a paper bag for me while I hyperventilated before Cannes!” Taron exclaimed, remembering what a wreck he’d been before the premiere at the Cannes film festival. An hour before they’d been needed, Taron had locked himself in the bathroom-not at all unlike Elton before his premiere at the Troubadour, and the irony was not lost on him- and refused to come out. He’d screamed bloody murder at Richard, who had patiently pled with him from the other side of the bathroom door, begging him to come out. Richard had coaxed him out, kissed his forehead, rubbed his back. Richard had told him all sorts of nonsense about what a talented, brilliant man he was and how those were just _people_ down there, after all, and his performance would speak for itself, and he’d ignored every nasty word Taron had hurled at him during his anxiety attack and never brought it up.

In short, Richard had been cool and unflappable, the polar opposite of Taron’s hysteria, and that was before _Cannes_. So it was impossible for Taron to understand how a little old premiere in London could have Richard feeling nervous. 

“You needed me,” Richard said simply, and it sent a shot straight through to Taron’s heart. 

“Hey, this is just the London premiere. It’s going to be fine,” Taron said, taking the cigarette butt out of Richard’s hand, chucking it down the toilet. He came back, and then he grabbed Richard’s hands and pressed his forehead to the other man’s. “You’re brilliant. This will be fine.” His lips ghosted, ever so lightly, over Richard’s, and he heard his small hitch of breath. 

“I don’t know why I’m so freaked, I just...Elton is from here, and there’s just so much pressure, and I’m the fucking _villain_ in the story and it’s not like Reid’s dead, y’know, he’s alive and he just hasn’t said anything, and people could rake it through the mud, that it’s not _accurate_ or whatever, and everyone’s going to be _staring_ at us and…” Richard had started to spiral, and Taron let go of his hands and squeezed his shoulders. 

“Hey, slow down. Deep breath, okay?” Taron said, and Richard stopped talking, nodded, took a deep breath. “The film’s already out there for scrutiny, you know? People will say what they want, no matter what. Some people will love it, some people will hate it. Are you happy with what we’ve done?” 

Richard looked up and met Taron’s eyes, tentatively, ocean blue looking into sky. He nodded. 

“So am I. So is Elton! You’re going to be fine. _We_ will be just fine. I’ll be right by you the whole time,” Taron said, giving Richard a confident smile. Slowly, reluctantly, Richard met him with a tiny smile. 

“Okay,” he said softly, and he kissed Taron gently. “If you say so…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For a while, Taron thought everything with Richard would be just fine. He thought that their talk before the premiere had helped him sort out his nerves, and after all, it was just London. As they stepped onto the carpet, Taron had looked at Richard and marveled at the fact that this brilliant man had quashed his own fears about Cannes just to take care of him. 

He wondered if that was why the nerves were all manifesting today. 

As promised, Taron stuck close by Richard’s side, and the pair smiled for what felt like hours as photographers all hollered over each other, jostling closer and trying to get the best shots possible. It was nearly time for them to go inside again when Taron heard him, his voice so low that he almost missed it. 

“T,” Richard said quietly, and Taron looked over at his face. Richard was pale, and he felt his heart sink like a stone at the sight of him. 

“Rich?”

“T, I...everyone’s looking, I…” Richard stuttered, and his eyes were darting back and forth, looking at everyone who had their cameras, phones, video cameras all stuck out, wanting a piece of them all. They wanted a piece of him that Richard wasn’t sure he could give at the moment. 

In an instant, Taron had moved and stood in front of Richard, thinking of nothing but stopping that wild look of panic in his eyes. He placed one hand firmly on Richard’s waist, and Richard’s hand instantly grabbed Taron’s elbow. 

“Hey, Rich, I’m right here, okay?” Taron whispered in a low voice. Richard’s eyes were trained on his feet now, refusing to look up. “Rich, look at me. Look at me, bubs.” 

At the sound of Taron’s nickname for him, the _nauseatingly_ adorable pet name for him that always made Richard smile, he reluctantly slid his eyes up to meet Taron’s. Taron smiled at him, another confident smile, one that helped Richard’s heart start to beat a little more normally. 

“There you are. I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’re almost done. You’re doing great. Let’s get this over with, okay?” Taron said just as softly as before, and Richard nodded, the smallest nod, his attempt to hide his anxiety and what was going on from the crowds. 

Taron slid next to Richard again and they continued to walk, heading inside, and he was suddenly unable to stop himself from holding Richard’s face gently and giving him the smallest, quickest kiss on the side of his head. He chuckled a little as people cheered, and positively grinned when he saw the small smile on Rich’s face. 

“I love you,” Rich said, twining his fingers through Taron’s as they made their way through the double doors for the film screening. 

“Back at you, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> This little diddy was inspired completely from [this post](https://ahandsomechicken.tumblr.com/post/186873736524) on Tumblr (credit to the user who made it!) I literally MELTED at those pictures and ugh I just had go through with it lol.
> 
> Also shoutout is needed for my lovely friend Jess (ilikeyouxactually) for squeeing with me over said post and supporting my instantaneous "OMG I NEED TO WRITE THIS MOMENT" reaction <3 please check out her stuff here on AO3 because she is insanely talented!
> 
> thanks for reading :)


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